And it’s certainly not as metal as a lot of metalheads want it to be. There are bits and pieces of it that are metal, but overall it falls way short of being worthy of that description. And hey, as a combined piece of cinema, as a fictional universe, as a cultural landmark, Star Wars has a lot going on for it. Things climax when the virgin battles the Lightning Scrotum in the Spaceticle, and the flannel grampa gets paid.ĭoes this tired, sanctimonious bullshit sound familiar to you, reader? It should, because it’s the plot of Star Wars, which for some reason seems to be every metalhead’s favorite intellectual property. Meanwhile, Vesty gets put in a chocolate bar by the Rocketeer thanks to the conniving business moxie of the only other Black dude in the galaxy. Things progress from the plains of Ice Level to the forests of Jungle Level, where the virgin learns hopscotch from Space Kermit. Together, they liberate a universe of stupid musical amphibians from the clutches of Disco Frankenstein (secretly the virgin’s disfigured papa), a Black man who was once an emo white boy before he went batshit insane after having sex with one person. He enlists the help of the telekinetic Scientologist who mutilated his father, but because no one in the future-past can rent a car, the virgin, the priest, and the two wind-up toys walk into a bar, where they meet Vesty McFucksSoGood, the anti-virgin, and his psychotic teddy bear. A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, some teenage virgin is contacted by a Roomba vacuum and a clockwork gay stereotype that his dad built, who ask him to save (and let’s be honest, probably fuck) a princess who’s actually his sister.